


Steel and Saltwater

by mintgreenkween



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Breastfeeding, Consensual Kink, F/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 05:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18336788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintgreenkween/pseuds/mintgreenkween
Summary: Sandor Clegane beds a whore. But it's not the same as usual. PWP. Oneshot.--He pulled up the latch and the heavy wooden door creaked open. The room was dimly lit by a few flickering candles. Sparsely furnished, but with a large comfortable bed upon which she sat, hands meekly folded in her lap, but eyes upon him. They trailed him as he found the sideboard in a few steps. He unclipped his heavy woolen cloak, letting it pool on the floor. Turning his more pleasant cheek to her, he was slightly taken aback to find her standing at his shoulder. Even more surprisingly was her eyes were still on him, and a smile played on her lips as she asked, “A hand, m’lord?”





	Steel and Saltwater

**Author's Note:**

> For anon on tumblr who requested "Hound/whore sexy sex times at King's Landing but it's tender and nice for whatever reason, you decide. I just want him to have nice things."

Despite his face, despite his reputation, Sandor Clegane blended into the background of King’s Landing. Under normal circumstances.

His armour was soot, matte, unremarkable. When his Hound’s helm was up, he need not worry about the stares, and when it was just his awful face, they’d all avert their eyes in any case. He loomed in the background, protection for the young King, an extension of the guard and the Lannister household, not loved but not quite hated.

He was a man of basic needs, he liked to think. He ate at lord’s tables and at Flea Bottom and in the barracks, as long as he ate. He drank Dornish wine and thick brown beer and watery ale, as long as he drank. He’d fucked a few high born ladies, but whores pretended to not see his face a lot better. People did most things a lot better for coin.

He wasn’t one for skulking around whorehouses. He walked in, paid for a seasoned woman, and walked out. Girls and virgins didn’t hold much interest, it was hard to get hard atop a quailing waif too afraid to let out her breath. Women didn’t stare.

Sandor Clegane did everything in an unremarkable, unabashed way. 

Unless Gregor was in town.

He could not abide by sleeping under the same roof as his brother, nor giving custom to his usual wine sinks, pubs, or even the barracks. But it had been too long, so instead of slinking around like some weasel, he booked a room at a inn beside the sea, far away from the Red Keep, and paid gold for the whore warming his bed.

Stone-faced and weary, Sandor slipped a silver stag into the hand of the innkeep letting him in the back door behind the kitchens. He stepped lithely for such a large man, finding the creaky wooden stairs up to his room, taking them two at a time. He was at the end, the largest room they had, the furthest away from anyone. His feet ached from standing, his body sweated from the heavy armour worn all day. 

He pulled up the latch and the heavy wooden door creaked open. The room was dimly lit by a few flickering candles. Sparsely furnished, but with a large comfortable bed upon which she sat, hands meekly folded in her lap, but eyes upon him. They trailed him as he found the sideboard in a few steps. He unclipped his heavy woolen cloak, letting it pool on the floor. Turning his more pleasant cheek to her, he was slightly taken aback to find her standing at his shoulder. Even more surprisingly was her eyes were still on him, and a smile played on her lips as she asked, “A hand, m’lord?”

“Mmm-hmm,” he rasped, eyeing her sidelong. Interesting choice. Eyes to match the waves that crashed in the bay beneath them. Hair half-cedar, half-flame, thick and long and clean.

Sandor stood and let her remove his plate, his coif, his hose and undergarments. Another reason to have an experienced woman. They could follow instructions. This one seemed smarter than most he’d had, reaching for the washbasin and cloth, but pausing for his permission first. He didn’t have to say much, for she kept her gaze on him. That was a unexpected pleasure. He looked for any trace of mockery in that slight half-smile, but could not find any. Nor was there fear. He liked a bold woman.

He shuddered slightly as she pressed the wet cloth onto his skin, wiping the sweat and oil from his day from his neck, his chest and back, his legs. He dipped his hands in the still-hot water and rubbed his tired, textured face, his beard, and combed his fingers up into his hair until it sat back out of his eyes. His unnamed consort had re-wet the cloth and paused, kneeling before him, looking up. 

“Shall I or you, m’lord?”

He took the cloth from her and wiped the dark juncture of hair and manhood, which hung large but not full hard. Yet. “On the bed,” he murmured, not unkindly.

She shuffled back and found the mattress, clear green eyes taking in his naked form.

He threw the rag back in the basin with a wet plop, the only sound save his own harsh breath. It was interesting to see her, slipping out of the cream coloured shift, almost as pale as her skin. Still watching, appraising. Not gawking and not shying away. It was arousing. And unfamiliar.

“Like what you see, wench?” He watched as she bared her own naked form, unsure if he meant the question to scare her. As full-titted as he thought, with hips to match, and looking just as brave, she nodded.

“I do,” was the measured reply as she untangled her feet from the dress pooled on the floor. He must’ve frowned at the sincere response, because she went on. “I like my men tall, and with broad shoulders, and you’ve got the broadest I’ve seen... unclothed.” The smile became coy. “And other things be broad too, m’lord.”

Sandor’s lips twitched in as close as he ever got to a smile as he watched her gaze dip and ride back up to his face. Though it may be some whore’s good training, he liked this interaction. If it was an act it was a very good one, and clearly something she could keep up. Good.

He closed the distance between them in a step. Standing over her seemed wrong in this moment, he wanted to see more of that face, and how it changed when he touched her. Crouching and crawling, he slinked over her so that she had to lay back on the bed, and so their faces were level. He shuddered as she touched him, hands finding his forearms and sliding to the shoulders and neck. She didn’t touch his face, but looked intently into it, lips parted slightly. 

He moved one of her hands over to his chest so he could rest his weight on one side, using the other hand to slide over her bare belly and up to cup one breast. 

“Seven hells, that’s firm,” he growled and he squeezed. But more than firm, almost rock hard. Unlike the belly, which was soft as a baker’s first loaf of the morning. She moaned a heated moan that was somewhere between pleasure and relief and he had the realisation when hot warm milk trickled down his knuckles as he kneaded her.

“You’ve had a babe.” It wasn’t a question. He stopped and stared at her, his features severe once more. “Is it too soon? I’ll not force you.”

“No," was the murmured reply. "It’s been weeks.” She brought her delicate hand up to cover his and squeezed again, hot rivulets of mother’s milk streaming from both nipples, rose pink and swollen. “I need a man grown touching me. It’s been too long.” She could feel his hard length pressed against her leg and rubbed against his cock encouragingly. 

Sandor let a groan escape at that. If it was new to be looked at without fear, then now it was overwhelming to see desire in those eyes, darkening like sea before the storm. He’d not been with a bitch who’d whelped, and the base idea of this fertile creature made him harder than his sword.

Repositioning himself, he brought his face down over those magnificent breasts, hard cock grinding against the mattress. His eye found hers, steel and saltwater. “Let me be of an assistance.”

He took her nipple in his mouth and drew back the soft flesh surrounding, as would a babe. It was sweeter and watery and tasted like warm hot skin. He drank and more flowed, massaging each until they softened. She moaned all the while, not the ridiculous braying of a whore pretending but the whimpers and groans of true need. Her hips lifted and she ground herself shamelessly up at whatever parts of them were pressed together. Fuck, how he wanted to feel that now.

Rough calloused fingers found soft, yielding lips that spread apart with ease for how wet they were. Viscose, like honey. He had never tasted one so sweet. 

“My lord,” she mewled, almost inaudible. Staring up at him with eyes half-open in lust. “Take me.” 

Never needing telling twice, Sandor Clegane moved himself up onto his elbows, cock pressing between her lips but needing adjusting. She was staring at him expectantly, eyes looking downward and pink tongue tip wetting her full lower lip. He never kissed while fucking, and couldn’t remember kissing at all before or after being burned. The scars puckered and twisted down to one side of his mouth, drawing in the lip. He was wondering how she’d stomach it and if it would break through any farce when she tilted up her face and kiss him full on the mouth. Her lips moved, drawing his mouth in and around hers. He groaned into her and felt her mouth as she groaned back. Her hands found his back, tracing it down, and not lightly. His cock twitched against her hot wet entrance as she moved beneath him. Mouth, tits and cunt needing him all at once. He’d never had it like this, not ever. He pressed himself into her slick folds and shuddered in his whole body as her cunt enveloped him.

She was tighter than he had expected. As tight or tighter than the whores he had who were unmarked by offspring. “Fuuuuuck,” he breathed, stretching out the curse as he slid all the way in and filled her. He moved, pulling all the way then back in just to feel it again. This time, her voice join in too. 

Sandor slid his fingers up behind her into her hair and gripped firmly. Her tongue in his mouth, his unpracticed ways unknown to her and forgotten to him. She was so reactive. Slick. Tight. Wanting him.

He almost spilled inside her then, overloaded with sensation, particularly his face which for so long remained untouched. But her moans were getting longer and louder, fingernails were digging into his back and mouth slackened as her kisses fell into gasping. 

He moved his head to her neck, sucking in the soft flesh and holding it in his maw. Unobscured by his mouth, she moaned so loud he wondered briefly if they would be heard. The thought made him plunge in even deeper, and faster. Her wetness and his coated everywhere and he knew the change of angle was rubbing that sweet nub of flesh with the base if his cock. 

So soft at first he almost missed it, but in each breath he could hear. “Ye - ye - ye - ye - yes, yes, yes.” 

Lifting his head to see her while she contracted around him finished him, the eyes staring at him with nothing but want, tits pooling milk where their bellies touched, her twitching cunt practically pulled his seed from him into her. He had to thrust a few times before he could stop, filling her with his cum, looking at her face, feeling her laboured breath on his.

He said nothing, simply took the now cold water and wiped down the both of them. She could not stop shuddering at his touch.

When she reached down to pull her dress up from the floor, he closed a hand around her wrist and looked into her face. She looked at the washbasin briefly. “Oh, but I thought -?”

“No,” he rasped deeply, his voice steel on stone. “I know I paid for the night full. But I’m spent. I got clean… because I want you to lay. Just sleep. Next to me.”

Her face softened and she smiled. “Aye.” 

When they had pissed and were back under the covers and the candles out, he felt for her, drawing her to his tough and broad body. Feeling protective. An arm over and hand cupping a heavy tit. She chuckled.

“You might have to help me with that again by morning,” she chuckled.

She couldn’t see. But almost feel the smile from his scarred lips reach her, his deep voice lost in the tangle of her hair.

“I might have my owns needs by then.”


End file.
